


Late Night Study Sessions

by sparxwrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Shamelessly self-indulgent, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:26:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you planning on touching my dick at all tonight, or were you just going to stare at it longingly and then jerk off when you finally got back to your room?” Lucifer’s voice is lazy and amused, but the words are enounced perfectly, scholar’s lips wrapping themselves easily around filthy words. When Sam opens his mouth to deny it, Lucifer shakes his head. “Don’t bother, Sam. I’m not stupid, please don’t even <i>think</i> about treating me like I am. I know flirting when I see it.”</p>
<p>In which Lucifer is the college librarian and something of a hipster, Sam is a student trying to write an essay due tomorrow morning, and shenanigans happen in the library past midnight when everyone else has left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night Study Sessions

**Author's Note:**

> So I think this reads like a poorly written porno tbh but it’s been sitting on my hard drive for like four months, ever since maydeiand I had a chat about librarian!Lucifer on tumblr, and I got fed up with staring at it and trying to improve it, so just have it. Have the damn thing because I am fed up with it.
> 
> (Also, apologies for the million words of exposition. It... sort of ran away with me.)

Some days, Sam struggles to remember why he even wanted to go to college in the first place.

Most of the time, it’s easy – when they get a new case study in class that Sam spends the next week puzzling over, when him and Jess stay up late watching crappy tv and eating ice cream, when there’s a party with free food and too much alcohol. Those things, they were what Sam signed up for when he applied to college.

He didn’t sign up for a 4,000-word, MLA-cited essay on the relevance of the US constitution in modern-day American with regards to law and public opinion, due in slightly less than sixteen hours. But he’s doing that anyway.

(To be fair, it’s his fault, he’s known about it for over two weeks now – just between his argument with Dad (again) and then Dean calling, and him shouting at Dean and then desperately trying to apologise because he actually  _likes_ Dean, unlike Dad, and- anyway, he’s had other stuff on his mind. But that’s no really any excuse, and he knows it.)

He also didn’t sign up to toss away his pride and practically  _grovel_ at the feet of the librarian in order to get things done, but he’s doing that anyway, too, because the library closes in an hour or so and if he doesn’t have that reference book in his possession by then, then he’s going to die.

Literally. His professor – a petite, terrifying woman who goes by the name of Raphael – takes no prisoners. You get A’s, or you get out. If you don’t hand an assignment in, you get laughed out, and don’t come back.

Unfortunately, his grovelling isn’t really getting him anywhere. “Please, Professor,” he begs, eyes wide and earnest –  _puppy dog eyes_ , Dean used to call them. He also used to say no one would be able to deny Sam anything when he was using them; but apparently they’re less effective when you’re six feet and several inches of solid muscle instead of a hip-height, skinny mess of limbs and hair. “ _The Origins of American Constitutionalism_ , I know there’s a copy in here, I just-”

“Not professor,” says Lucifer, idly, raising an eyebrow. “Mr. Morningstar will do nicely, thank you. Professor makes me feel old.”

Sam has to admit, looking him over, than he doesn’t exactly look like a professor. He’s mid to late thirties, hair short and giving the vague impression he’s just rolled out of bed, thick-rimmed glasses covering eyes that are an unnaturally pale and icy shade of blue – all suitably professor-ish. The look kind of falls down with his clothes, though; Professor Demiguros is a stickler for  formality, and almost all the professors (barring the art department, which hasn’t really been beholden to Michael’s whims ever since Professor Milton’s successful petition for freedom of dress code within their walls) dress in suits, or at least smart shirts.

Which means that, dressed in worn jeans (small hole over one knee, fraying on the other) and an oversized sweater (at least two sizes too big) and no shoes (or socks), Lucifer looks more than a little out of place.

(More than a little cute, too. In a grouchy-old-man kind of way, and even saying that in his head makes Sam feel weird as fuck, but hey. Practically everyone Sam knows well enough for them to tell him that sort of thing has a crush on one professor or another. It just so happens that Sam goes for the silver fox type, apparently.)

“Uh, right, Mr. Morningstar,” continues Sam, trying to pull himself together again and get back to making his case. Which is difficult when what he really wants to do is stare at the librarian’s toes until something covers them, because how the hell does he get away with not wearing shoes? “So, that book, I’d be, like, massively grateful if I could borrow it because my essay’s due in sixteen hours and-”

“Babylonian architecture?” asks someone, butting into their conversation like Sam isn’t even there.

Lucifer answers them like he hasn’t been listening to a word Sam’s said. “Row twenty-six, second cabinet on the left, top shelf.  _The Urban Landscape in First Millenium BC Babylonia_ , H.D. Baker. A little biased, but well worth a read. You were saying?” He turns back to Sam, eyebrow cocked, the two conversations flowing seamlessly together

“Look,” says Sam, a little helplessly. “If you’d let me borrow that book, then it’d really, really help. Like,  _really_.”  
“But it’s a reference book.” Lucifer’s tone implies that’s all there is to it, and he’s confused why Sam is pushing the subject.  
“But- but Raphael’s gonna kill me if I don’t get this essay done by, like, tomorrow morning, and I really can’t afford to fail her class, and more importantly I don’t want to  _die-_ ”

Lucifer frowns a little, taps a finger against his lips in thought. “Isn’t that _Professor_ Raphael to you?” he asks slowly, voice chiding – and also slightly amused, if Sam’s ears don’t deceive him.

“Yeah. Sorry. Professor Raphael. But, look, prof- Mr. Morningstar, my essay’s due in sixteen hours and that book’s the only one I need – my library record’s spotless, you can check, no late returns, no damages, I promise I’ll have it back to you by tomorrow lunchtime, latest-” His voice has turned gentle, wheedling, soft inflections at the end of sentences and the beginnings of an encouraging smile curling his lips.

With a horrified jolt, Sam realises his tone has turned  _flirty._  When he’s talking with a professor.

“But it’s a reference book.” This time, there’s no confusion in his tone, just a firm, final  _end of conversation._ Thankfully, if Lucifer’s noticed anything off about Sam’s body language or voice, he’s ignoring it.

“Right.” Sam drags a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping and eyes dropping to the floor. “Right, okay. Thanks for your help.” He can’t help the mild bite to the words, even though he knows that being anything other than polite or friendly towards Lucifer has hellish consequences – something Professor Demiguros can attest to. No one knows exactly what happened between them (though rumours abound, naturally) but their hatred for each other is legendary.

Professor Demiguros confiscated (via proxy) the library’s copy of The Satanic Verses, a banned book, for the sixteenth time yesterday. Sam would be willing to bet good money that there’s already another copy on the shelves. It’s a known fact that Professor Demiguros hasn’t set foot in the library for years.

He nods at Lucifer in a reluctant gesture of thanks, turns to go – the book’s on the shelf, he’ll just have to skim-read and photograph the important pages or something, and oh god he’s gonna fail so badly – when a voice stops him.

“Sam?” says Lucifer, and if voices could smile, his would be grinning like a Cheshire cat. “It’s a Wednesday. The library’s open for all-night study Wednesday and Friday nights. You’re welcome to stay in the library as long as you want. The reference books are available for as long as the library is open.”

With a great effort, and a lot of grinding teeth, Sam manages not to turn around and yell at him. “Thank you,  _professor_ ,” he hisses, and stalks off to third cabinet on the right, row forty, where his book is waiting for him.

By the time he sits down at a table with his book, opens his laptop, and types the title for his essay, he’s in a foul mood, and it’s all professor Morningstar’s fault.

Three hours later, the mood has receded a little, and he’s actually managed to get some things done. Whether he’s managed to get  _enough_  done – he’s still not sure he’s going to finish this essay before the sun rises – and whether what he has done is good enough for Raphael is anyone’s guess though.

 “Essay going well?” asks a voice from over Sam’s shoulder,

Sam doesn’t jump, but it’s a near thing. He tends to get… engrossed in his essays; when he writes, pours his whole focus and attention into them. It’s great, being able to focus that efficiently and absolutely, but it also makes him dead easy to sneak up on. Dean had taken advantage of it many, many times before Sam had left for college – usually ending with Sam yelling at him, red faced, and Dean laughing hysterically until Dad told them both to calm down and shut up.

“Well enough, I guess,” he says, stretching a little in his chair, rolling shoulders, curling toes and fingers, working the kinks out from sitting still for too long. The clock on his laptop – a Mac, one of the few indulgences in terms of money he allows himself, because they just look so damn good – tells him it’s 11:38, and the word count on Microsoft Word tells him he has a little under 1,000 words.

To be fair, he’d spent most of the first two hours skim-reading the relevant chapters of the book, and another half-hour or so searching through various databases for any relevant articles or journals, but still. Any hopes he had of finishing before midnight are slowly ebbing away.

“What are you studying?” asks the voice, and this time Sam turns his head to see Lucifer leaning against one of the tables behind him, peering thoughtfully over Sam’s shoulder at his essay. “Politics? History?”  
“Law,” says Sam, shortly – still pissed off at Lucifer for making him grovel when a simple few words would have spared him the trouble and embarrassment, but not pissed off enough to forget his manners and the fact that Mr. Morningstar is the kind of person you want to keep on your side. “Why’re you interested?”

“I have another twelve hours or so until I can leave the confines of this library. Until then, I can either sulk in a corner by myself, or find people to talk to and take an interest in the students using my facilities.” Lucifer shrugs one shoulder, a supremely unconcerned expression on his face. “I prefer students to death by boredom.”  
“People are here to work, though,” Sam points out, turning back to his laptop and worrying on his lip as he searches through his tabs for an article he’d saved there earlier, determined to get back to work. “If they’re desperate enough to be studying overnight, they’re probably not gonna have time to talk.”

Lucifer smirks, a slight upwards curl to his lips that comes off as not so much ‘patronising’ but more ‘shared secret’. “You do, though, so why shouldn’t other people?”  
“I don’t,” mutters Sam awkwardly, back-footed using his own logic and not liking it. “I need to keep working.”  
Blinking, Lucifer raises his eyebrow and shapes his expression into one of surprised apology. “Oh my. Well, then, I’m  _so_  sorry for keeping you. By all means, carry on with your-” He squints at Sam’s laptop screen; apparently the glasses aren’t terribly effective. “-deconstruction of why the American constitution is a relic and not a stable basis for a governmental system. _Fascinating_.”

Ears burning, Sam stares intently at his computer screen, reading the same three sentences of the article open in his browser over and over until the near-soundless pads of Lucifer’s footsteps fade away.

People start trickling out at a little past midnight – not that Sam notices, absorbed in his essay and research as he is – in small clumps, heading home for sleep. By the time one in the morning comes around, there’s maybe three or four students left, scattered around the library, and at least one of them is asleep and using their textbook as a pillow.

Lucifer decides to go and wake that one up in half an hour or so, because really, if they’re that tired then they need to be asleep and in a bed, not at the library. And also because he’s learned, over the years, to take small pleasures where he can – and there are few things more pleasurable than the crazed look on the face of a sleep-deprived student as he shakes them awake and they struggle to remember where they are for a wild half-second.

Sam’s still working away, eyes focused tightly on the computer screen other than the occasional twitch to the reference book open by his elbow. His screen’s full of double-spaced lines of text, and Lucifer can’t make out the words from where he’s standing, but they look long, so he supposes it’s probably going reasonably well. Still. As bored as he is, interrupting someone while they’re that focused on their work seems cruel.

He makes a mental note to keep half an eye on the few students left, should any of them be amenable to conversation – something he doesn’t get much of, stuck in the library for the vast majority of his time – and heads over to the shelf where he keeps the books Michael is likely to try and confiscate, to work out which of them need replacing  _this_  week.

Another three hours, another check of his clock and word count – 2:16 and 3,798 respectively – and Sam allows himself to stop for a breather. Only two hundred words left to go, and there’s a couple of quotes he’s thinking of slipping in from another article he’s found that’ll pad it up to 3,900 or so, and then an extra hundred words on the end of the conclusion…

“Done?” asks a familiar voice from behind him, and this time Sam doesn’t even have to turn around to check. The library’s practically silent, now, no sound other than his and Lucifer’s breathing, and the squeaking of his chair as he rocks on its back legs. As he watches, a single, anxious student scurries towards the door – how they have enough energy to scurry, when Sam can feel himself crashing even as he sits there, is a mystery – nods at Lucifer in thanks, and then leaves.

“Nearly.” Sam focuses back on his computer, in the hope the librarian will leave him alone, and watches his word count jump as he copy-pastes quotes from the articles and gives them introductory half-sentences. 3,815… 3,833… 3,849… The numbers creep up, and he just wants to be  _done_  with this already.

It’s only when he feels something warm against his cheek and turns his head a little that he realises Lucifer’s chin is practically  _resting on his shoulder,_  and that the librarian’s peering thoughtfully at his computer screen.

He doesn’t flinch – he’s got entirely too much experience with Dean doing similar things – but he does frown a little. “Uhm… like what you see?” he manages, voice weakly joking, one eyebrow raised. It’s only after the words have fallen from his mouth that he realises what he’s said and curses himself silently in his head. So Mr. Morningstar might be something of a silver fox. He’s still Sam’s professor, and doing anything remotely like what Sam wants to do with him is completely and utterly inappropriate.

“Mmh,” says Lucifer, a non-commital hum, the corners of his mouth twitching up a little. Sam swallows hard and tries to think of distinctly unsexy things like dirty laundry and dog crap. It doesn’t work too well.

Nor does his attempts to keep his eyes above the waistline of Lucifer’s jeans when the librarian  _finally_  removes his chin from Sam’s shoulder and steps back to lean against a nearby table, eyeing Sam curiously. It’s only a quick flick, a slight drop of his eyes downwards and then up again, and hopefully Lucifer hasn’t even noticed, but even so… Sam’s not sure he’s going to be able to bring himself to set foot in the library for a while after this.

(He’s trying to blame his sudden and inappropriate interest on the fact that it’s late and he’s not gotten any in far too long, and not the fact that his professor is so hot it should be illegal. It’s not really working – there’s a reason he usually avoids Mr. Morningstar, after all. The late hour’s only to blame for the fact he’s doing a lot worse at covering it up than normal.)

“That’s an interesting take you have on the constitution,” says Lucifer eventually, tapping his index finger against his lips in a thoughtful sort of way. “Very interesting. Very brave, as well.” The  _Professor Raphael is either going to love you or hate you for this_  goes unsaid, because Sam already knows this, and suspects it’s going to be the latter considering the hour this essay was done at.

“Um, thank you, sir,” says Sam, because he’s not really sure what else to say. He sees Lucifer wince a little at the ‘sir’ – probably another thing that makes him feel old – but doesn’t know what to say to that either, so he doesn’t say anything.

Lucifer makes no move to leave, just leans against his table and eyes Sam with a slightly raised eyebrow. Sam struggles to keep his eyes above Lucifer’s waistline, fails, and tries to turn back to his computer and concentrate on his essay again. He fails at that too.

The silence between them lengthens awkwardly.

“So,” says Lucifer, eventually, after a few minutes. “Are you planning on putting your mouth where your eyes keep going?”  
Sam chokes a little, eyes tearing away from the computer screen and locking onto Lucifer’s face in mild panic. “Uhm,  _what_?” he manages, eyes widening in something between guilt and confusion.

“Are you planning on touching my dick at all tonight, or were you just going to stare at it longingly and then jerk off when you finally got back to your room?” Lucifer’s voice is lazy and amused, but the words are enounced perfectly, scholar’s lips wrapping themselves easily around filthy words. When Sam opens his mouth to deny it, Lucifer shakes his head. “Don’t bother, Sam. I’m not stupid, please don’t even  _think_  about treating me like I am. I know flirting when I see it.”

“Right. Right.” Sam chews on his lips anxiously, eyes dropping to the floor. “Uh, sorry, professor, I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry if I upset you, I- shit, I’m really sorry-”

Lucifer sighs, looking terribly put-upon. “Dear lord, what do they  _teach_  you these days? Certainly not social skills, that’s for sure.” He shakes his head, but there’s dark amusement in his smile rather than irritation, and when he looks at Sam again over the tops of his glasses he’s outright smirking. “Do I  _sound_ upset?”

For a long moment, Sam just stares, because this is seriously one of the most surreal conversations he’s had in a while – because talking to a professor about the fact Sam kind of really wants to bang him is not something he does terribly often – and the sleep deprivation really isn’t helping. “Uh…” he hazards after a moment, frowning. “No?”

“No. Exactly.” Lucifer somehow manages to sound both put-upon and patient, as if he’s leading a rather dim child through a simple round-peg-in-round-hole exercise. “So, why are you apologising?”  
“Because… because I was, um, staring. At your- at you.” He can’t quite bring himself to say ‘dick’ in front of a professor, especially when the dick in question _belongs_  to said professor.

Lucifer just stares, as if he can’t quite believe Sam is being this thick.

“Okay,” he says, after an awkward silence, where colour begins to creep up Sam’s cheeks. “Okay. Let’s look at this logically, shall we?” There’s a bite of _something_  in his voice, not quite anger or despair, something almost verging on impatience. “You’ve been staring at me. I  _know_  you’ve been staring at me. I am not upset by the fact you have been staring at me. Therefore, logically, I must be  _happy_  that you have been staring at me. Can you, Sam, think of any _possible_  reason where I would be happy that a student has been eyeing my dick?”

For several seconds, Sam simply gapes at him, mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. When he finally manages to make a sound, what comes out is, “But I’m a  _student_.”

“Oh, for the love of- yes, Sam, you’re a student, we’ve been over this. Do try to keep up, it’s becoming  _incredibly_  boring repeating myself.” Lucifer yawns exaggeratedly, stretching out a little more against the desk he’s leaning his hip on. The motion of his arms rising lifts the hem of his sweater, revealing a strip of pale skin and a smattering of dirty-blonde hairs in the center, broadening out from a point as they disappear into the waistband of his jeans.

Sam can’t help but lick his lips.

Lucifer zooms in on the movement like cat on a mouse, and grins. “See?” he murmurs, taking the few steps forward necessary to be standing directly in front of Sam, peering down at him through the glasses perched on the end of his nose. “You’re interested. I know you’re interested, and happen to quite like the fact you’re interested. What’s the problem?”

“The problem,” Sam manages to get out, through the strangled lump of arousal steadily building in his throat, “is that you’re my freaking professor! Isn’t this- massively against rules or something?”  
Lucifer shrugs, like the idea of his academic career being over isn’t a terribly worrying one. “I’m not directly responsible for you,” he says, bored, settling himself on Sam’s lap with a small sigh despite Sam’s squeak of shock and the hands that find his hips, not sure whether to pull him closer or push him off. “I’m not  _technically_  your teacher. I think that counts for something.”

Sam draws in a sharp, hissing breath through his teeth, looking around frantically for anyone that might see them, nerves singing with a heady mix of arousal and adrenaline, fight-or-flight response pounding his head.  _Do it or run, do it or run_.

“There’s no one else who is so phenomenally stupid as to be in the library at this hour of the morning,” says Lucifer, tone more dismissive than reassuring, and Sam scowls a little at being patronised like that.  
“You’re seriously making me reconsider your attractiveness,” mutters Sam irritably, and Lucifer wiggles a little in his lap, biting down on his lower lip and looking up at Sam from under his lashes with an expression that should look ridiculous, but that he somehow manages to make look utterly irresistible.  
“You think I’m pretty?” he murmurs, voice low and rough, batting his eyelashes.

Sam’s pretty sure this whole thing is supposed to be the  _other_  way round – student seducing initially unwilling professor – but he honestly doesn’t have it in him to complain. “Yeah,” he manages, words ragged around the edges, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “Yeah, think you’re real pretty.” The words fall out easily, once he’s pushed them past the tight constriction of his throat, and Lucifer damn near  _purrs_.

He’s going to hell for this. He’s  _so_  going to hell for this. But he thinks, maybe, if Lucifer’s mouth feels as good as it looks, it’ll be worth it.

Lucifer shuffles forward, enough that his weight’s over the bulge in Sam’s jeans, enough that Sam- oh god, that’s his professor’s dick, hard and pressed against his stomach through his jeans, and Sam can’t help the soft groan that escapes his mouth. He bites his lip a second later, embarrassed and flushing hot and red, but Lucifer just grins, presses forward a little more to grind against Sam, and it’s fucked-up that a little bit of dry-humping has Sam so close to coming in his pants like he’s still in high school and getting off for the first time in the school bathrooms.

“How- how do you want to-” Sam can’t get the words out, even though he knows this has gone way past the point of playing shy and embarrassed already.  
Thankfully, Lucifer seems to know what means. “Well,” he says, thoughtfully, grinding forward again and  _down_ , this time, just to hear the choked noise Sam makes at the friction on his dick. “I think, for starters, I’d quite like to get my mouth around your cock.” He smiles, all sharp teeth and amusement at the way Sam’s bright red and spluttering, somewhere between shocked and aroused. He grinds down again, and Sam whimpers so  _prettily_. “You feel like you’re quite a mouthful, and I’d like a taste. If that’s quite alright with you.”

It takes a moment for Sam to remember how to form words, but when he does, he blurts out, “Oh  _god_  yes,” fast enough that Lucifer laughs, sliding off his lap. Sam’s fingers shake as he fumbles with his button and zipper, sliding his jeans down around his ankles and tugging the elastic of his boxers down behind his balls. He’s embarrassingly hard already, cock thick and curving up towards his stomach, dripping precome. Sam always leaks everywhere when he gets properly worked up.

The look on Lucifer’s face is almost reverent as he drops to his knees between Sam’s leg, wrapping a dry palm around the thickness of Sam’s shaft. “What a big boy you are,” he murmurs, voice hungry and eyes dark as he licks his lips. Sam wants to say something to that, but words fly out the window as Lucifer’s tongue presses against his skin, warm and wet, licking him from root to tip before lapping at his head.

“Fuuuck,” whines Sam, fingers curling into fists where they’re resting on his knees, fighting the urge to thrust forward into Lucifer’s mouth. It’s difficult, especially when Lucifer begins to suck, mouth wide open and sloppy as he works his way down the length of Sam’s cock and then back up again, open-mouthed kisses painfully good but nowhere near enough. “Fuck, c’mon,  _c’mon_.”

Lucifer rocks back onto his heels, looking up at Sam with a smirk. “No one ever teach you patience?” he asks, voice slow and drawling, and Sam’s tempted to snap something back about being barely out of his teens, about the fact Lucifer’s making it incredibly difficult for him to be patient, but he doesn’t. Instead – barely able to believe he’s actually daring to do this – he reaches forwards, curling fingers into Lucifer’s hair and tugging.

When Lucifer just slides with it, leaning into the pull as Sam eases him towards his cock, Sam’s breath drags out of his chest in a low groan. Lucifer’s mouth feels too good to be true, hot and wet and not too tight, but definitely enthusiastic.

(Sam wonders, for a brief moment, if Lucifer has seen him in the library before, on other occasions he’s been in here to study. If Lucifer’s been thinking about this, waiting for this – and then he quickly banishes the thought, because if he dwells on it, considers the possibility of Lucifer jerking off to fantasies about him, then he’s going to come right now.)

He keeps pushing forwards until Lucifer starts leaning back, settling with Lucifer’s mouth cradling a little over half of his achingly hard dick, the urge to thrust almost too difficult to bear. He’s almost forgotten it’s his professor he’s fucking, under the sheer weight of arousal, forgotten any reticence about letting the librarian blow him in the middle of the (admittedly abandoned, but for how long?) library.

One hand still tight in Lucifer’s hair, Sam lets his hips start rocking in a steadily increasing rhythm that pushes his cock ever closer towards the back of Lucifer’s throat. His other hand snakes up under his shirt. He finds one nipple with his fingers, tugs on it, rolls it between the pads of his fingertips and digs blunt nails in it as his thrusts get increasingly erratic, mouth half-open as he pants through the sensations.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, “fuck, professor Morningstar, oh god-” Lucifer makes a small noise around his dick, one that’s half admonishment and half appreciation. A hand presses at his hip, holding him still, and his entire body shudders with the effort of not fighting against it; maybe he’d crossed an invisible line, blurting out something he hadn’t even meant, but damn it he’s  _so close._

“Oh- oh fuck, your mouth,” manages Sam, whimpering a little. He knows he must look a mess, head thrown back and hair in disarray, eyes closed tight and mouth wide open, gasping, face flushed red with arousal and embarrassment.

Lucifer practically purrs at Sam’s words, pushes his thighs a little further apart so he can lean forward, swallow Sam down a little further. Gasping, legs trembling, Sam rocks forward into the motion, fucks a little deeper, pushes deeper into Lucifer’s mouth chasing the orgasm he’s just on the edge of, and Lucifer just  _takes_  it.

What pushes him over the edge, in the end, is a mistake. He’s shaking, one hand painfully tight in Lucifer’s hair and the other twisting almost viciously at his nipple for the sparks of pleasure it sends chasing down his spine to feed the fire in his stomach. He thrusts again, and again, just a little too hard – and his cock bumps against the back of Lucifer’s cock, presses just past his gag reflex, makes him choke.

Sam comes to the tight clench of Lucifer’s throat around his length, the spasm of it milking him through his orgasm as he stifles his howls of pleasure through clenched teeth, spine bowed in a rigid back-bend.

As soon as Sam’s fingers relax a little, Lucifer pulls off him, licking his lips and swallowing because there’s not much else he can do, preening under the continued pressure of Sam’s hands on his hair. He presses his forehead against Sam’s knee as the student shudders and breathes through the aftershocks, the hand he’d wrapped around his own cock a few minutes ago speeding up until he’s biting his lip as his own climax rolls through him.

A few seconds later, Sam draws in a deep breath and opens his eyes., blinking down at Lucifer and looking a little stunned.

“Ah, I made a mess of your hair,” he says, a little anxiously, when the stars have receded from his eyes and he no longer feels the urge to simply lie there in the chair and  _be_ , whilst the lethargy slowly works its way out of his system. “Sorry.” He lets go of Lucifer’s hair, pets it a little to try and smooth it down, and then blushes as he realises he’s effectively stroking the other man’s head. “Sorry,” he repeats. “Oh! Do you want me to, uh…” He gestures

Lucifer just smiles, lifts fingers striped with come and licks them clean in a few, neat, practiced swipes of his tongue. It’s only then that Sam looks down, realises Lucifer’s jeans are unzipped and settled low on his hips, underwear pushed down to allow his (now soft) cock to hang out the front of them.

Groaning quietly, Sam’s eyes track back up to see Lucifer sucking two of his fingers into his mouth, rolling his tongue around them to clean the traces of come from between them. He looks entirely too enthusiastic

“Don’t worry,” says Lucifer, thoughtfully, finished cleaning his fingers. He tucks himself back in, zips himself up, and pulls himself to his feet with the aid of the desk Sam’s laptop was resting on. “I had a  _very_  nice time.” He smiles, pats Sam’s cheek in a way he thinks should probably feel patronising but just makes him blush a little brighter. “Perhaps, if you feel guilty, you can repay the favour next time.”

Sam doesn’t quite choke, but it’s a near thing. “ _Next time_?” he manages, staring at Lucifer as the professor smiles a little lopsidedly, already heading back to his desk.  
“Well,” calls back Lucifer, amusement thick in his voice. “The library has late night study sessions every Wednesday, after all…”


End file.
